


love and a cough

by saltyfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 11.10 coda, Episode Tag, Episode: s11e10 The Devil Is In The Details, M/M, lucifer!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyfeathers/pseuds/saltyfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll probably get in around dinner,” Cas says, “Is that alright?”</p>
<p>“Sounds good,” Dean says. “We’ll keep a plate warm for you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	love and a cough

**Author's Note:**

> [to the tune of bill nye the science guy] angst! angst! angst! angst! angst! angst! (trash tropes rule)

They’re all more than a little bruised after their tussle down under, and Dean finds that the words are reluctant to come. There’s only so much that can be said after a rematch with the one Big Bad they genuinely never thought they’d never see again.

They pull up to the bunker, barely a word shared between them the entire ride back. Sam’s about to get out of the car when Dean reaches across the seat and grabs his elbow.

“Hey,” he says, as Sam looks back at him with hooded eyes. “I can smell the guilt from here, and you need to cut it out. It’s over. It’s done.”

Sam opens his mouth to respond, but Dean cuts him off.

“The only thing worse than the Darkness?” He stresses. “Adding fucking _Lucifer_ to the mix. We’ve already been to the sales pitch where they try to sell us two ancient beings duking out their problems on earth. We very politely said ‘no fucking thank you,’ remember?” He tries to imbue his tone with as much definitiveness as possible. “You made the right call, Sam.”

Sam’s expression is all reluctance, but he swallows it down and manages an empty smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

He makes as if to head inside, but he hesitates when he sees Dean still hasn’t moved from behind the wheel.

“You coming in?” he asks.

Dean drums his fingers on his thigh, gripping his phone with his other hand.

“Yeah, in a sec. I’m gonna give Cas a call and check in, see if I can get an ETA.”

Sam puts a hand on the Impala in acquiescence and heads inside.

Dean waits until the door has closed behind him, and then he waits some more, tapping his thumb on the smudgy screen of his phone.

Something is wrong.

Of course, there are a lot of things wrong right now, but this is something new. Something intangible. A recent disturbance in the force.

He stews. He thinks about watching his brother face off with the devil in that cage. About the message burned into Cas’ chest.  About how much he wants to wipe Crowley’s smug little face out of existence as soon as he’s sure the bastard isn’t useful anymore.

He thinks about the connection Amara claims exists between them, and something deep down inside him gives a sick tug. He doesn’t move for a minute, afraid that if he does whatever remains in his stomach after the smiting sickness is going to make its way up and out. He stares at the roof of the Impala and breathes slowly, one of Sam’s breathing techniques, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

His phone is warm in his hand as he calls Cas. He really does want to make sure he’s okay, but he’s not afraid to admit there’s a selfish and much more specific want at play here as well.

It takes a few rings, but Cas picks up and before he even says anything Dean welcomes the relief that momentarily floods the doubt out of his system.

“Dean, are you alright?” he asks immediately.

“Yeah, Cas, I’m fine,” Dean wonders if he’s as obvious as he thinks he is, that when he says Cas’ name like that it’s synonymous with respite, with the world slowing down for just a moment. “We didn’t really have time to debrief afterwards, but I wanted to check in. You got whaled on pretty good back there.”

“We all did,” Cas says ruefully. “He _is_ the devil, after all.”

Dean chuckles. “That’s uh… Yeah, that’s a good point. It’s some weird déjà vu, man. Last time Lucifer took me to town he was wearing my own goddamn brother.”

There’s a very brief silence before Cas says, “It’s over now, Dean. We’ll find another way to beat the Darkness.”

Dean runs his free hand over the steering wheel, smooth beneath his palm. He doesn’t answer Cas, but instead starts in on another train of thought. “Look, you said you’d be right behind us. Does that mean… Are you planning to stay?” he asks, trying so damn hard to sound casual. “There’s still a room waiting for you, if you want it.”

There’s a small snuffling noise, like Cas huffs in amusement and then quickly reins it in.

“I was going to come by, yes,” he says. “Actually… there’s something I was hoping to talk to you about. In person.” His voice hitches just slightly at the end, and Dean suddenly feels like he’s at the very top of a roller coaster, just before the big drop.

He clears his throat harshly before answering, “Yeah, buddy, sure. I’ll be here.”

“I’ll probably get in around dinner,” Cas says, “Is that alright?”

“Sounds good,” Dean says. “We’ll keep a plate warm for you.”

***

Cas arrives exactly when he said he would.

Dean’s just returning from dropping a bowl of spaghetti off to Sam, who’s currently hunkering down in his room and looking both mentally and physically like he’s been put through the wringer, when he walks back into the kitchen and finds Cas sitting at the table, sans trench or suit coat. The top two of his dress shirt buttons are undone.

He does a double take, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Cas wearing so few layers when he’s in such relatively good health.

“Hey, man,” he says, beelining for the sauce pan on the stove to give himself a second to catch his breath. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“My apologies,” Cas says. He lays a small key out on the table in front of him. “I had the key you gave me and let myself in. From there, I followed my nose.”

Dean starts stirring the sauce, staring firmly at it.

“That’s why I gave you the key in the first place,” he says, “This is your home too, Cas. If you want it.” That’s the second time he’s said that to Cas today. _If you want it_.

Dean dares to turn and meet Cas’ eye, and sure enough, Cas is smiling gently at him.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Nerves always start to jangle in Dean’s stomach during moments like this, quiet moments with Cas where the only thing keeping them apart is themselves.

“You’re part of the family,” Dean says, his nerves making him gruff. “You’re always welcome.”

Dean doesn’t allow the silence to settle between them before he says, “So, what, you de-cluttering your life now? Or did you finally cave and go to a dry cleaner’s?”

He fills two plates with spaghetti, despite Cas’ thing about molecules. It’s symbolic , or something.

 As he brings the plates to the table, he finds Cas looking at him, question in his expression. Dean sets the plates down and briefly rubs the fabric of Cas’ dress shirt between his fingers.

“What, no one ever tell you it’s a little gauche to walk around naked?”

Cas looks at the spot where Dean’s hand just was.

“Oh,” he says. “I thought it was customary to take your coat off when you enter someone’s home.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “That never seemed to bother you before. Not that I’m complaining, mind. For once you look like you’re something approaching comfortable.”

He’s not hungry anymore, not with Cas so close and relaxed. He puts down his fork.

Cas reaches up and plucks at his shirt collar.

“I suppose it’s more comfortable,” he says. “But realistically, I’m an angel. I hardly notice a difference.” His brows crease slightly, and then he says, slower, “Being here with you, I think, helps bolster that illusion of comfort.”

“I… uh…” Dean can feel his face start to heat, caught off guard. He’s casting around for some way to respond to that when Cas shifts slightly and the top of his shirt opens, revealing a bit more of his surprisingly unblemished torso.

“Hey,” he says, trying to refocus, “Were you able to whammy away Amara’s message already?”

Cas, who now also looks slightly caught off guard, looks down to where Dean is referencing. It’s hard to tell from the angle, but it looks like some kind of shadow passes across his face.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “I suppose once it had served its purpose it became much easier to remove.”

“That’s weird,” Dean says. “I mean, no offense, but she’s like, the Darkness. I’m surprised you were able to get rid of it yourself.”

Cas shifts again, almost looking uncomfortable.

“Like I said, once it had served its purpose, it basically become moot,” he says. “Powerful magic like that doesn’t tend to stick around if it doesn’t have to.”

Dean nods slowly, and something starts ticking away slowly in the back of his mind.

“You’re the expert,” he allows.

Cas stands rather abruptly.

“Thank you for dinner, Dean,” he says. “But what I said earlier about wanting to talk, would it be possible for us go somewhere now and… do that?”

Dean swallows hard.

“Yeah, Cas, for sure,” he says. “Just…” he holds out a hand in a _follow me_ gesture, and leads Cas down a couple hallways and into the den, where an old couch and a few arm chairs sit huddled around a TV Dean went through more than one illegal channel to get. 

He sits on the far end of the couch and Cas follows, sitting close enough that their knees are almost brushing. Something is fluttering in his chest, nervous beats of a hummingbird’s wings against his rib cage.

It’s bizarre to see Cas like this, up close and soft and inviting in a way Dean’s never really experienced before. His sleeves are rolled up halfway to the elbows, his hairstyle casual. If it were any other face, Dean would just think he was a regular joe getting home from a day at the office.

It’s almost unsettling.

“Okay,” Dean says, nervously rubbing his palm along his thigh, “Here we are. What’s up, Cas?”

A small smile plays on Cas’ lips.

“About Lucifer,” he says, watching Dean carefully. He settles his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “This could be a good thing.”

Dean looks at Cas’ hand, heavier than expected, then meets his gaze.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, the suspicion involuntarily creeping into his voice.

“Being in hell, with you,” Cas explains, “Kind of my own version of weird déjà vu, don’t you think?”

“Uh…” Dean loses his train of thought as Cas moves his hand so that it’s closer to Dean’s neck now, his thumb just brushing Dean’s clavicle.

“Cas,” Dean says quietly. It’s not a warning, but he can feel the surge gathering in him. His fingers ache to move, to see if Cas is as soft as he looks.

That _something_ in the back of his mind continues to tick.

Cas’ thumb moves, the tip just pressing against Dean’s windpipe now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t withdraw his hand. “Humans are just so… fascinating.”

“That’s us,” Dean says, for lack of anything better to add. He feels like a live wire, Cas’ fingers sparking electricity everywhere they press. Dean thought his hands would be warmer for some reason, but they’re cool to the touch.

Cas’ smile grows infinitesimally as his long fingers trip lightly up Dean’s throat, coming to rest against his jaw.

“When we were down there,” Cas says, “all I could think about was getting out. The world is going to be shrouded in darkness soon, the fight inevitable and grueling.” His thumb traces the line of Dean’s bottom lip, and it tingles. “I’m being selfish, but I wanted this moment of reprieve with you. Before the night grows even darker.”

Cas’ gaze drops to Dean’s mouth, and Dean instinctively licks his lips. When he looks back up at Dean, something moves behind his eyes. His hand spreads across Dean’s cheek, the tips of his fingers just sliding up into the hair at his temple. He leans in, their mouths barely an inch apart.

“I need to hear you say yes,” he murmurs against Dean’s lips. “Please, Dean.”

They’re so close. Everything is alight. Something is ticking.

“Yes, Cas,” Dean breathes, and closes the distance between them.

The taste is immediately foreign to him, but Dean has to remind himself that this is something he never truly believed he’d get. Cas kisses gently, but there’s steel beneath the softness.

Dean has dreamed about this moment for years, for what seems like forever. He has to remind himself that fantasy and reality are very different, and where he so often likes to imagine softness, he will just as often find steel instead. That the Cas from his dreams and the Cas sitting here in front of him, the _real_ Cas, could be as different as night and day, as fire and ice.

Cas’ free hand drops to his waist, maneuvering Dean so he’s pressed back between Cas and the arm of the couch. His movements are almost mechanical as he finds the skin beneath Dean’s shirt, his body temperature so tepid that Dean almost shivers.

And then, for one blinding moment: fire.

The mouth on his becomes fraught, the hands on him feverish with adrenaline and what Dean could only describe as unadulterated fervor. It lights him up from the inside, fireworks going off like the 4th of July. He grabs a handful of Cas’ shirt and holds on like his life depends on it, trying to pull himself closer, out of the shallow pool and into the warmth. Cas brings both hands up to Dean’s face, cradling his jaw in his palm.

Cas pulls away hard, his eyes bright and his mouth pink and abject desperation written into every line of his face.

“Dean,” he gasps out, searching Dean’s expression with frantic eyes, “Dean, it’s Lu-” He cuts himself off, surging forward and kissing Dean once more. His grip on Dean becomes hard again, bruising.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Something icy drips in Dean’s stomach, and his heart thumps.

“Stop,” he says, his voice choked.

Cas’ grip only tightens.

Dean puts both hands flat on Cas’ chest and shoves him backwards. Cas stares at him with hurt eyes.

“Dean, what-”

Dean’s shaking his head, back and forth. “Shut the fuck up,” he says.

“Dean-” there’s a hand on his knee, and Dean clamors off the couch. They keep guns hidden all over the bunker, and he grabs the nearest one from behind the TV, pointing it directly at Cas.

“Where is he,” Dean says flatly.

“Dean, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas begs. “It’s me.”

“ _Where is h_ -”

Then Dean realizes what Cas- the _real_ Cas- was trying to tell him.

“Lucifer,” he says numbly.

The veneer drops away like a waterfall, and Dean doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before. He sure as shit can see it all now, laid bare in front of him. The posture, the smile, the eyes; it’s all wrong. Everything is wrong.

“Me,” Lucifer says simply. He lightly clucks his tongue in disappointment. “Gosh, I was so close, too. You wanted to believe so badly.”

“How are you- this can’t be- you can’t-”

“Be here?” Lucifer finishes sympathetically for him. “I know, it’s a lot. Take a moment, Dean. Maybe you should sit down.”

“ _Where the fuck is Cas_?”

That smile that Dean initially found so strange on Cas reappears, and it makes a lot more sense on this face.

“You may not want him back after you hear what he’s done,” Lucifer says, putting a hand delicately over his mouth like he’s sharing a juicy bit of office gossip.

“You piece of s-”

“He said yes,” Lucifer interrupts harshly. “No tricks, no lies, no spells. He asked if I could defeat the Darkness, I said yes, then so did he.”

Dean goes numb.

“He said-”

“Yes,” Lucifer says, shrugging. He bites a knuckle. “I gotta say though, I don’t think it took too long for the little fella to start regretting it. But hey, them’s the breaks right? Possession agreements are a bitch.”

Dean shoves everything that’s screaming at him aside, and he squares his shoulders.

“Get out of him,” he says.

Lucifer makes a faux-apologetic face.

“See, the deal’s already been made,” he says. “Which means I’m free to say no.”

“So help me if you don’t get out of him right now I swear-”

Lucifer leans forward, cocking his head. His eyes take on a dangerously sharp glint.

“You swear _what_ , Dean? I’m the devil. I’m wearing your angel’s meat suit. What could you possibly threaten me with? Stick an angel blade in me, you stick one in him too.”

“You son of a bitch,” Dean’s voice is low, his ears roaring. He holds the gun up, only because it grounds him. “I’m gonna rip you limb from limb. I’m gonna cram your ass back into hell so hard they’re gonna hear the door slam up in heaven.”  

Lucifer chuckles good naturedly.

“Oh, Dean Winchester,” he chides lightly. “There’s so much you don’t know.” He taps a finger against his temple. “I don’t have access to it all, because our Castiel is putting up a mighty strong fight, but the things he’s done for you, my my,” he wipes a faux tear from his eye, his smile only growing. “The things he’s _endured_ for you. Scandalous, even by heaven’s shady standards.” He points at Dean, like a teacher inviting a student to speak. “No? Nothing to say?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Dean says, an oath. “I’m going to tear you out of that body with my bare hands, and then Cas can tell me whatever he damn well pleases.”

“So very gallant,” Lucifer says with relish. “Oh, this is all just so _sad_ , if only he knew how much you cared for him. That’s why he said yes, you know. He was shooting blanks. Felt like he had nothing to live for.” He _tsks_. “Guess you took him for granted one too many times, hm? I can only imagine how much it hurt him to love you so deeply for so long and believe the sentiment was never returned. I mean,” he dramatically wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, “obviously it _was_ returned, but too little too late, I suppose.” He shrugs. “Oh well.”

“You-” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose, tries not to see that bastard using Cas’ face, Cas’ mouth, to smirk at him like that.

_He’s lying_ , Dean tells himself desperately. _He’s lying, he’s playing your worst fears against you, that’s all they ever do is lie._

He thinks about every time he’s left angry messages on Cas’ phone, whether it was a bad day or he just wasn’t thinking. He thinks about the things he used to ask for when he’d pray to Cas, whether it was for Sam or for just another body on a case. He thinks about all the times he’s dismissed Cas, or snapped at Cas, or deployed him like a fucking power tool that hangs in the garage. He sent Cas to the smiting site mere hours ago, sent him in there with barely a warning while he went on his merry way.

But.

Dean didn’t drink himself half to death when the Leviathans sunk Cas in that lake because he lost his favorite hammer. He didn’t turn himself into a campfire story in purgatory for the fun of it. He didn’t sit in that confessional last year and talk about the _people_ and _feelings_ he wanted to experience differently because it was a cover for a case. He didn’t give Cas a key to their goddamn secret underground bunker- their _home_ \- just because he was in a good mood that day.

He did those things because there was no way he couldn’t. He invited Cas into his home, into his _heart_ , for fuck’s sake, not because Cas is just another notch on his utility belt, but somewhere along the way, he became essential. Not his powers, not his knowledge, not his connections. Just him.

He is essential to Dean, and maybe it’s Dean’s fault for never making that clear. Maybe it’s Dean’s fault for just assuming Cas already knew all this, for figuring that he _had_ to know, that it had to have been so incredibly, painfully obvious that Cas is it for him. That shift in him was so monumental, and he didn’t realize until now that the birth of that sun only ever warmed _him_ because he was too afraid to share it with the one who inspired it.

Cas never knew, but he will.

Dean stands straight and he stares the devil right in the eye.

“I’m not talking to the has-been wearing your meat suit, Cas. I’m talking to you, loud and clear, cause I know you can hear me. You can always hear me.”

Lucifer scoffs, but Dean doesn’t break eye contact.

“You’re gonna keep fighting in there, and you’re gonna keep this asshole out of your head, got it? And when we get you back, and you and I can get some _fucking_ privacy-” at that, Lucifer puts up his hands defensively, “then I think there’s some things you and I should probably discuss.” He tries to look past the iciness of Lucifer’s stare, to where he knows Cas is hidden, somewhere in there. He swears he sees a glint, a tiny one, and he tries to grab hold of it, to believe.

“You’re a Winchester, Cas,” he says, “And Winchesters beat the devil.”

 “Alright, alright, we get it,” Lucifer rolls his eyes, making grand, dismissive gestures with his hands. “I _am_ here to help, you know.”

“Yeah,” Dean says blackly, “I’ll believe that when I fucking see it.”

Lucifer shrugs, looking helplessly towards the ceiling.

“God knows I tried,” he sighs. He brings his gaze back down to earth, winking at Dean. “I’ll be seeing you around, Dean Winchester. Tell Sam I’m sorry I missed him.”

Without fanfare, Lucifer, and subsequently Cas, are gone.

Dean stands very still, the gun still clutched tightly in his hand.

By degrees, he unthaws. He holds a hand to his face, two fingers gently pressed against his bottom lip.

He holds onto that warmth.


End file.
